“Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. She treaded down the hall swiftly but stopped abruptly when she heard a voice in back of her. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. As soon as he was gone, the two women divested themselves of their hoods and cloaks, and threw them, as if inadvertently, into the farthest part of the angle in the wall. Melusine sighed with frustration. The island castle at Port Herculis had been part of the trade off, all to be kept as quiet as the circumstances of her second marriage and her “suicide”. To have spoken lightly on such a subject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible. When sentence was passed there wasn't a dry eye in the court. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue.
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